


i wished for your love on a shooting star

by rahleighbucket



Series: siúil a rúin [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Friends to Lovers, these kids are bad at feelings but god do they try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahleighbucket/pseuds/rahleighbucket
Summary: There is a tiny island to the southeast of Berk. It isn’t much more than a spur of rock jutting out of the sea, but it is a beautiful pale color, smooth and sharply angled. When Hiccup first sees the Gael princess from Caledonia, she reminds him of that island - beautiful, tall, and pale, but cold and expressionless like stone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics at the beginning of the fic are from the song "All This and Heaven Too" by Florence + the Machine. The title of the fic is the title/first line of a poem by Alannah Morales.
> 
> Notes on some of my research for this story and, more importantly, meanings of non-English words are here: https://justpaste.it/1jawf
> 
> This is the first work of more than a few hundred words I've finished in........actual years. And it still feels somehow....a bit shameful to post stuff featuring an OC, so! Posting this is both exciting and terrifying. In general I tried to do my research where necessary, but also I'm in my last quarter of a physics bachelor's degree so please be kind.
> 
> I would be extraordinarily remiss if I did not acknowledge notbecauseofvictories (here on AO3 and on tumblr). Her Lord of the Rings AU, 'This Bird My Soul', was a huge inspiration for this story, and she's an insanely talented person who deserves all the love you can give her.
> 
> Thank you also to my friends Tiana and Ellen, who kindly read this as I was writing it and let me yell about it in their DMs.

 

_and the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own_

_it talks in songs and quiet sighs, and prayers and proclamations_

 

**i.**

There is a tiny island to the southeast of Berk. It isn’t much more than a spur of rock jutting out of the sea, but it is a beautiful pale color, smooth and sharply angled. When Hiccup first sees the Gael princess from Caledonia, she reminds him of that island - beautiful, tall, and pale, but cold and expressionless like stone.

Lady Saoirse nighean mac Ailpin seems as unsure of their potential union as he is. When they are introduced on the docks, and he welcomes the Caledonians to berk, she says nothing but looks evenly upon him. He gets the feeling that she finds him wanting.

He manages to make his way through the exchange without tripping over his words once, so there’s that, at least.

( _She’s very lovely,_ Astrid remarks to him in the great hall later, after the Caledonians are settled.

_I don’t think she likes me,_ he says, staring miserably into the mug of mead in front of him. The silence from Astrid tells him that she agrees, but doesn’t want to say so. He’s not sure if he would have preferred she lied.)

The next day sees the beginning of negotiating the finer points of the Berk-Caledonian alliance. Half the day is spent just trying to understand each other; his Gaelic is incredibly broken, and while about half the Caledonians speak passable Norse, their accent is thick enough it might as well be another language. Mid-afternoon they break for the day, all of them a bit frustrated.

(The whole day, Saoirse sat at the table, giving him the same even, searching stare she had at the docks. The only times she spoke were side comments to the woman next to her, low and quick. He didn’t hear much that he recognized, but all the same he felt like they were talking about him.)

That night they hold a feast to welcome their guests properly; Saoirse is seated at his left side. Hiccup’s pretty sure his face must have been red the whole night, what with the way the attention of the whole hall was so clearly on the two of them the whole night.

Saoirse says maybe ten words to him the whole time, despite his attempts to engage her in conversation. (He knows it’s doomed as soon as he sees her wrinkle her nose at his poor approximation of her language. He switches to Norse, which somehow he’s pretty sure she likes even less.) She’s cordial, but there’s a bitter edge to her that’s impossible to miss, and as soon as the food is gone she excuses herself to go back to the guest house.

(His mother must have caught his desperate look that followed Saoirse out, because she places a hand on his. _Give her time,_ she murmurs. _This can’t be easy on her either._ )

The next few days of negotiating are marginally more successful than the first. Saoirse is absent for all of them, and when Hiccup asks after her, as casually as he can manage, he is told only that she isn’t feeling well. Privately, he’s almost relieved, if only to not have her staring at him like if she does it long enough, he’ll catch fire or transform into something she likes better.

The fifth night, they have what the Caledonians call a _céilidh_ , which turns out to be a big party, really. They bring out all kinds of instruments, and all the Caledonians but the musicians perform a wild, turning, stomping kind of dancing. It is the first time Hiccup has seen Saoirse look anything other than displeased.

(After the dancing someone hands her a harp, and she sings and plays three songs. They are all in Gaelic, so he barely understands them, but they all sound achingly sad and homesick.)

\--

After two weeks the details of the alliance are mostly set, with both sides happy. Hiccup has seen Saoirse maybe five times since that welcoming feast, and every time has been painfully awkward. He’s starting to be less morose and more insulted at how obviously she dislikes him despite every effort on his part to try and befriend her.

Another night passes with Saoirse absent from the night-meal, and finally Hiccup decides he’s had enough. With a word to his mother, he gets up and walks over to the guest house.

The door is answered by the woman who has been stuck like a shadow to Saoirse the whole visit - Mairead, he remembers. She seems briefly startled by his presence, but quickly drops into a carefully neutral expression.

_May I help you, my lord?_ she asks.

_I’d like to see Lady Saoirse,_ he says. (The title of ‘lady’ isn’t particularly familiar to his tongue - strictly speaking, Berk’s dialect of Norse doesn’t have an equivalent, so he splices the Gaelic word into the sentence - but even though his people don’t put much stock in titles of rank, he’s learned enough about the Caledonians to know that calling Saoirse just by her first name would be horribly rude.)

_I am afraid she is indisposed -_ Mairead begins.

_Lady Mairead,_ he interrupts, _I’ve made every effort to be as welcoming and friendly as possible. I understand that this might not be what Lady Saoirse wants. But I’m tired of being treated like this. If she really doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll leave. But I think I’m owed at least a conversation._

Mairead is silent for a long moment. _I will inquire with her grace,_ she says finally, and closes the door, but not all the way.

Hiccup waits for a minute, and then another, and then another. He’s starting to get impatient when the door opens again, wider this time, and Mairead beckons him in.

_The lady is in the room in the back,_ she tells him.

Saoirse is sat on the bed when he walks in. She glances over his shoulder, and says a sentence in Gaelic that he only half-understands. It’s clear enough what she says when Mairead closes the door behind him.

_Have I done something wrong?_ he asks. _Because normally people were only this rude to me when I was still the village disappointment._

She looks confused by that. _I beg your pardon?_ she says.

_Never mind. I just -_ He gives a frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. _I feel like you hated me as soon as you laid eyes on me._

There’s a long, painful pause. She looks at him with her intense, searching stare. Finally she moves to her right a bit and gestures to the empty spot next to her. He sits down with a thump.

_I have always known that it was my duty to marry for the betterment of my family and my people,_ she begins, gazing down at her hands. _I was proud of it, I thought I was ready. But when my father told me he wanted me to marry the Dragon Tamer of Berk… I did not want to leave behind everything I knew to marry some far-off Viking chief. Even one with your impressive reputation. I was angry. I could not take it out on my father, so I took it out on you. I am sorry._

Hiccup’s indignation fades. _I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth. That you have to do this when you don’t want to._

She smiles a bit. _That is a kinder word than I deserve from you._

There’s another pause, but it’s not so long nor so painful. _It’s not so bad here, you know,_ he says. _And I - I’ll do my best, even if I’m not what you were looking for._

She looks him straight in the eye, but her gaze is more gentle, less piercing and judging. _Will you be kind?_ she asks.

A smart remark along the lines of _what did he_ just _say_ is on the tip of his tongue, but her face is solemn and serious, and so he lets the words die. _Yes,_ he says instead.

_Will you treat me as a partner? Will you let me do as I wish and go where I please, trusting that I will bring you no dishonor?_

_I promise,_ he says.

_Then you are exactly what I am looking for,_ she says, and reaches over to take his hand in her own. _And I - I will promise you the same. I will not be a wife that harasses you, or bends you to my will, or demands more of you than you can give. I will help you take care of this island and your people. I will be a good wife, my lord._

_You don’t have to call me that,_ he tells her. _It’s just Hiccup._

_Then it is just Saoirse,_ she responds.

They sit in silence for a while, hands linked. Her eyes are a dark bluish-grey, and when he first met her he thought them cold and unknowable like the open sea. They are not so cold or unknowable now, he finds.

(It’s not perfect, he thinks as he lies in bed that night, but it’s a start.)


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

It seems that the Caledonians were waiting on Saoirse’s word, because the next day the head of their party - a sharp-eyed man named Brychan - approaches Hiccup to discuss arrangements for a wedding.

(Brychan speaks of the subject with a bit of distaste. When Hiccup asks him, he only shrugs. _The lady Saoirse is well-loved in Caledonia,_ he answers. _We are all grieved to see her leave._ )

It’s a more complicated endeavour than he thought it would be. The Gaels have their own beliefs and rituals, and are quite adamant that their princess is married according to those. The Vikings, of course, have theirs, and are equally adamant that their chief is married according to them.

In the end they come up with a strange combination that neither appeases nor offends either side, and then the preparations begin. It is planned for two months’ time, at the end of summer, long enough for word to be sent back to Caledonia and for the full wedding party to arrive.

In the meantime, Hiccup gets to know his betrothed. After that night of quiet promises and apologies, Saoirse opens herself up to him a bit more each day - they have a whole conversation at the night-meal, awkwardly jumping between languages, but she actually smiles at him. She does not look so haughty when she does so, he finds.

(She has four siblings, she tells him: three brothers, one older and two younger, and a younger sister. Her mother was a princess from the kingdom of Gwynedd to the south, and ever since she died, Saoirse has been lady of the manor and of Caledonia itself, half sister and half mother to her younger siblings. She started learning to play the harp at five, and could recite epic poems by memory at ten. She grew up on the sea, like him.

In return he tells her about his childhood: the lonely years spent in the shadow of the village’s disappointment, Toothless, turning Berk from dragon killers into dragon riders. There is a shine of awe and interest in her eyes as he does so.)

Introducing her properly to Toothless is a touch dicey at first. Toothless is fiercely loyal, and listened to Hiccup complain a great deal about the Gael princess in the first few days of the Caledonians’ visit, and is not greatly inclined to like Saoirse. But she approaches cautiously at Hiccup’s instruction, and lets Toothless dictate the pace of the meeting, so before long he decides she’s alright.

 _He is beautiful,_ she remarks, scratching behind Toothless’ frills. _We have very few dragons in Caledonia, and none like him._

 _He’s pretty amazing,_ Hiccup agrees, with a loving pat, and Toothless gives him a pleased rumble.

Saoirse invites him over to the guest house one night, after the night-meal is over. Shockingly she looks for the first time entirely unsure of herself, rather than everything else around her, and when he arrives she actually blushes a bit.

 _We are not doing much,_ she explains a bit hurriedly, _but - we Gaels like to sit around together, at home. Talk, and drink, and play songs. If you would rather retire for the night -_

 _I’d love to join you,_ he cuts in, and he thinks that the smile she gives him then could light up the whole house on its own.

The Caledonians seem a bit unsure of what to do with him, but they offer him a cup of some dark alcohol. _Uisge-beatha,_ Saoirse tells him. He takes a sip before she can warn him, and she laughs at the face he makes at the sharp taste.

After a while, no doubt helped by the alcohol, the slight tension of the room loosens. Hiccup is sat next to Saoirse, their bodies almost touching, but he feels the thumb’s-width of space like something alive. He still isn’t sure how to handle touch with her - their relationship is still so halting, so new; he worries if he does the wrong thing she’ll run across the sea back to Caledonia.

She laughs at something Mairead says, and falls back a bit into Hiccup as she does so. His whole body flinches, and she glances at him and pulls away a bit, a question obvious in her face. He smiles and shakes his head, and tentatively rests his arm around her shoulders. She smiles back at him, warm and uninhibited, and leans back against him.

(He understands now why Caledonia is so loath to give her up. When her regard toward you is favorable, it is like being shone upon by the sun.)

 _Forgive me if I am too bold, my lord,_ one of the Caledonians - a tall sprout of a lad, barely into adulthood if that - asks, _but how did -_ The boy pauses, and gestures to Hiccup’s prosthetic.

Mairead tuts and smacks the boy’s arm. _That curiosity of yours is going to get you in trouble someday, lad,_ she scolds.

So he launches into it, starting from the night he shot down Toothless, all the way to the day he woke up and found the people of Berk befriending dragons. They are all suitably impressed by the tale, and other stories of bravery and foolishness are passed around. Later instruments are brought out, and Saoirse looks at him with a gleam to her eye.

 _Do you know any songs, Hiccup?_ she asks.

 _Oh, no, you don’t want to hear me sing,_ he protests. _I sound like a strangled Nadder -_

 _Oh, you cannot be worse than me, my lord,_ the young boy from earlier says, a bit more emboldened by his drink. _I have been told I sound like a banshee when I attempt to sing._

There are roaring laughs of agreement, but Saoirse is still looking at him. _Alright,_ he concedes. _I know - well, there’s one I could sing, I guess._

A murmur of gasps and claps ripples around the room, and they all settle in expectantly. He can feel his face burning red, and he takes a swig of the _uisge-beatha_ before he clears his throat and begins.

It’s a song from his childhood, one he just remembers his father singing to him on stormy nights. His voice is halting and thin at first, cracking in places, but as he keeps going it gets stronger as the rhythm and tune comes back to him: _come away, o human child, to the waters and the wild, with a vættir, hand in hand; for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand._

A hush falls when he finishes, and he ducks his head, suddenly aware of all their eyes on him.

 _You give yourself far too little credit, my lord,_ Mairead tells him. _Your voice is most fine. Thank you for sharing this song with us._

To his utmost gratitude, Saoirse motions for Mairead to pick up the fiddle sitting in her lap, and picks up her own harp. They play a wordless song, quiet and gentle, and as the attention shifts away from him he eases.

They while away another hour or so with music, and finally Hiccup excuses himself, waving away the calls for him to stay. Saoirse walks with him back to his house. _Thank you for joining us tonight,_ she says.

_Thank you for inviting me. I had fun._

_We do such gatherings most nights. I am sure you would be welcome any time you wished to join us. And if any of your friends should like to join as well - I know you are close with the lady Astrid - please tell them they are welcome. I should like to get to know them as well._

She turns to leave, then suddenly turns back and leans over, kissing him on his cheek. _Good night, Hiccup,_ she says, and strides quickly back to the guest house.

He lingers in front of his door for a moment and absently touches the cheek she kissed, then smiles and goes inside.

\--

By the time the Caledonian wedding party arrives, a few days ahead of the wedding itself, Hiccup and Saoirse are - friends, certainly, far more so than a couple months before, but there is still something hesitant about them. They both dance a little around each other, unsure of what is allowed and what is welcome and what is unwanted. (Astrid teases him no end. He reminds her that she and Heather were just as bad not that long ago, and gets a bruising punch to the arm for it.)

They stand together on the dock to welcome the incoming ships. Saoirse’s father is not coming, but her siblings are, and they wave from their ship, calling out to her, _siúir, siúir a ghrá_.

(Saoirse weeps at this, though her face stays turned to the sea, the breeze drying the tears falling down her face. Hiccup brushes his hand against hers, and she reaches out and takes it in a sharp, jerky motion, squeezing it almost too tightly. He does not mind.)

Her oldest brother is tall and a bit gaunt, and he clasps Hiccup’s arm with a solemn air. Her younger brothers are twins, barely adults, so alike he worries he’ll never be able to tell them apart. Her sister is still a girl, coltish and graceless and freckled and delighted beyond reason to see her sister. They all cling to Saoirse as soon as they can get off the boat, and she presses endless kisses to their cheeks.

She’s equally happy to see two large, heavily furred dogs that practically bolt off the boat to jump all over her, barking and licking her face. (They are named Madainn and Feasgar, blue-grey and brindle coated respectively, and to Hiccup’s surprise they get along rather well with Toothless, after some initial posturing and settling of rank.)

That night is another feast and the first of many ceremonies. The betrothal had been rather unconventionally handled for both parties, so before the meal they gather in the great hall, their families and peoples on either side and they two in the middle, and he formally asks for Saoirse’s hand. Her dowry and his _mundr_ are read out, and they are handfast by the village _gyðja_ and a Caledonian druid.

(Saoirse’s hand shakes when the ribbon is tied around their wrists, and he holds it a little tighter, rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. She says nothing, but her eyes thank him more than words could do.)

The next couple days pass in a whirlwind of preparation and ritual. It seems everyone needs his attention, between the impending wedding and all the normal tasks of running the village day to day. He hardly sees Saoirse, wrapped up as she is in her side of things.

The stress is clearly getting to both of them, because at the night-meal two nights before the wedding, Saoirse seems close to tears at every word, and Hiccup’s temper is frayed so thin he snaps at his mother, of all people. (Valka merely arches an eyebrow, and he ducks his head in shame. She pats his hand and turns to answer a question on her right, and he knows he is forgiven.)

He glances over at Saoirse, and an unspoken word passes between them. As the call for music is struck up, they slip silently from the hall.

As soon as they are outside, Saoirse breathes deep, and she looks less panicked. _Come with me,_ he tells her. _I want to show you something._

He leads her back to his house. When they enter Toothless looks up from his own dinner and nearly bowls Hiccup over. Saoirse gives Toothless a scratch and looks at Hiccup expectantly.

 _You’ve never ridden a dragon before, have you?_ he asks.

Her face blanches. _Oh no, Hiccup, that is - I’ve ridden horses, but nothing like - dragons_ fly _._

He snorts. _Really? I’d never noticed._

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t look any less apprehensive.

 _It’s safe. I promise._ He holds out a hand. _Let me show you._

When she mounts up behind him on Toothless’ saddle, Saoirse grips her arms around his waist so tightly he has to tell her to loosen them a bit, or he won’t be able to breathe. She shrieks when Toothless leaps into the air with one powerful flap of his wings, and buries her face into Hiccup’s shoulder.

They level out, and as Toothless turns to sweep around Berk, Hiccup pats Saoirse’s thigh. _You’re missing it,_ he tells her.

Her breath hitches as she pulls away from his shoulder, and then she gasps. He glances over her shoulder at her face, which is turned up to the moon, totally rapt with awe.

 _It’s beautiful,_ she breathes, looking as though she might cry.

They loop lazily around the village a few times, then Hiccup directs Toothless to the far side of Berk. They touch down on a cliffside, the moon hanging full and bright overhead. Saoirse’s legs wobble a bit as she slides off of Toothless’ back, but she lands firmly and laughs breathlessly as she braces her hands on her knees.

 _That was…_ she gasps, looking up at him, wonderstruck, _I don’t - I don’t have the words._

 _Yeah,_ he agrees, sitting down and leaning back against Toothless’ side. Saoirse settles down beside him, and Hiccup pulls the blanket he brought with them out of a saddlebag as Toothless curls around them.

 _Thank you,_ she says. _I needed this._

_I think we both did._

(They stay there the rest of the night, listening to the wind whistle and the waves crash below them, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. As Hiccup is drifting off, Saoirse murmurs, _Shouldn’t we get back?_

 _Ah, whatever,_ he says sleepily. _We’re getting married in two days._ )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the absence of decent info on what an ancient Celtic wedding ceremony (and not a modern neo-pagan reconstruction) would be like, I based the wedding ceremony in large part on a scene from the novel Blackmantle by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison.

**iii.**

The day of the wedding is cold and grey-skied, but shockingly not rainy. The village is alive with activity bright and early, getting ready for the ceremony to be held at sunset.

Hiccup’s day is taken up with personal preparations - there are traditions to follow, and yet more rituals to do, and he knows Saoirse is doing much the same. It seems as if the day has only just started when the sound of a horn winds throughout the village, clear and ringing, to summon all for the wedding.

(Berk is no easy place to live, and so its people are a practical sort, with not a great deal of finery to be saved for special occasions; the clothes Hiccup wears have a good deal of regular wear and use upon them. There is one special touch, however, an early wedding gift from Saoirse’s family: the cloak on his shoulders has fine embroidery all over it, illustrating his family’s history and his own deeds.)

The _vé_ stands on one of the many tall rock outcrops that form the collective area of Berk, bridges arrayed around it; the attendees of the wedding approach from all directions, so as to not clog up any one of the bridges. In front of the _vé_ ’s stone altar stand the _gyðja_ and the Caledonians’ druid, each holding a staff of gnarled wood, waiting for the crowd to gather.

All of a sudden Hiccup notices Saoirse, almost directly in front of him. She wears a sky blue gown with delicate gold embroidery at the belt, neckline, and sleeves, an intricate torc of gold set with shining gems is at her neck and a crown of flowers sits on her unbound hair, which is being gently tossed about by the evening sea breeze; she clutches a sheaf of wildflowers in her hands. Like him, she is barefoot.

The first order of business, before the rite begins, is the exchange of dowry and _mundr_ ; this is done largely symbolically, since the full terms of each are far more than can reasonably exchanged by hand. Saoirse’s oldest brother, Domhnall, stands for their father in the matter.

The exchange is quick, and when it is done, the _gyðja_ and the druid lift their staffs and strike the ground in unison, and a hush falls over the gathered crowd. The druid takes a pouch of sea salt and begins walking a wide circle around the altar; as he does, he lets the sea salt fall from his fingers in an arcing line, enclosing himself, the _gyðja_ , Hiccup, Saoirse, Domhnall, and Valka, singing a droning invocation that Hiccup cannot understand. (His Gaelic has improved remarkably in the past few months, but there is something ancient about the druid’s song, and he gets the feeling that even the Caledonians might not totally understand the druid’s words. Saoirse confirms as much, when he asks her about it later; the druids hold arcane knowledge known only to themselves, she tells him, and such invocations are not in any form of Gaelic she knows.)

With the circle cast, the druid looks to Valka and Domhnall, who both hold swords pointing straight up to the sky. _What do we see in this circle?_ he asks.

 _A man and a woman who have come to wed,_ Valka answers.

_Are they fit to wed?_

_Their lineages are impeccable and their honor unquestionable,_ Domhnall replies.

 _What name and ancestry have they?_ the druid asks, this time to Saoirse and Hiccup.

 _I am Saoirse nighean mac Ailpin, daughter of Fergus Teine-air-a’chnoc and Gwenedwr ferch Hywel; I am of Uí Mharraidh, the Sea-called,_ Saoirse answers softly.

 _I am Hiccup Haddock, the third of my name, son of Stoick the Vast and Valka Vinkona-dreki; I am chief of the people of Berk, Reiðmenn í Himinn, the Sky Riders,_ Hiccup follows.

The druid turns to regard the gathered crowd. _If there is any reason these two should not wed, let those gathered here today now speak it._

Silence rings out, like everyone is holding their breath. The druid lets it gather for a moment, then nods, and holds his hands outstretched. _Let now the couple present their rings and pledge themselves to one another._

The rings are matching: silver and gold wrought into simple interlacing knots. Hiccup takes his from the point of the sword his mother holds, and as he slips it onto Saoirse’s left hand, he recites his vows: _I take you, Saoirse, as my wife and mate; I promise to bear to you true faith and honor all our days, and provide for whatever children we may birth; I promise to treat you as an equal partner in all things, and bring you and your family no shame._

(It’s a slightly unconventional wording, and clearly unexpected by a number of those in attendance - but Hiccup had promised Saoirse these things long before this ceremony, and he is a man of his word.)

Saoirse’s hands tremble a bit as she takes her ring from the tip of the sword Domhnall holds, but her voice is steady as she speaks her voice and places the ring on Hiccup’s left hand: _I take you, Hiccup, as my husband and mate; I promise to bear you true faith and honor all our days, and raise whatever children we may birth; I promise to treat you as an equal partner in all things, and bring you and your family no shame._

The _gyðja_ motions to them, and they take each other’s hands in their own, such that left holds left and right holds right, criss-crossed over each other. The _gyðja_ takes a braided cord of silk ribbons - green, blue, and red - and tied it around their joined hands.

 _You bind yourselves now to each other,_ the druid intones, _and this spancel shall be a symbol of your union: strong and unbroken, like the rings you now wear._

The _gyðja_ takes a bundle of fir twigs and asperges them with spring water as the druid draws the wedding-rune upon their foreheads in ash from sacred trees. with the blessing conferred, the _gyðja_ and the druid both take up their staffs and strike the ground again. _These two are wed before the people and the gods,_ the druid declares. _Receive them now in joy and gladness._

A cheer swells through the crowd. Hiccup looks only upon his new wife, and sees mirrored in her face his own warring emotions of apprehension and happiness. He gives her a small, private smile, as much to try to cheer himself as her, and she returns it more readily and brightly than he expects.

The braided cord is slipped off their hands and set aside for hallowed keepsake, and to end the rite, they step over a long sword held at knee level. They lead the march to the great hall, flowers thrown before them as the sun finally dips below the horizon.

\--

The great hall is lit ahead of their arrival, tables laden with food and drink for the first night of feasting. They take their place at the head of the high table, and once everyone is settled inside, Saoirse takes a quaich of consecrated mead and offers it to Hiccup, her first duty as wife. He takes a sip and offers it back to her, and she drinks and then holds the cup out to the crowd in toast, which is returned heartily.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of boisterous revelry; many songs are sung speaking to the beauty and wisdom of the bride and the renown of the groom, and many more offering wishes for good fortune and happiness for the pair. Eventually it begins to wind down, or at the very least the couple at the core of the rejoicing begin to tire, and at some hour well into the night, Hiccup stands and bids the crowd farewell for the night. The wedding party gathers torches, and a somewhat rambunctious procession guides the two back to his house - now theirs together.

To his surprise, all the joy of the night seems to have fled from Saoirse, in contrast to the others around them. When the wedding party leaves them at the house, heading back to the still-raring feast with much ribaldry and merriment, it falls coldly quiet, and Saoirse moves to the bedroom without a word or a glance toward him.

They get ready for bed in a silence that feels strangely tense compared to the feeling of the festivities earlier. Hiccup feels suddenly hesitant to say anything, for fear of upsetting Saoirse further, though he is utterly baffled at her sudden turn of mood.

He putters about the house, directing his attention to anywhere but her in an attempt at giving her privacy while she changes into nightclothes. When she calls his name, he whips around to face her almost embarrassingly quickly.

She is sitting on the bed, a comb in her hands and an inscrutable look on her face. _Would - would you help me comb and braid my hair?_ she asks haltingly.

 _Oh. I - of course._ He sits down next to her, and she turns her back to him, pushing her hair over her shoulders to it all falls down her back, raven-dark against the pale color of her thick linen nightgown.

He stars tentatively pulling the comb from the crown of her head to the ends of her hairs. It catches on a knot, and he hastily apologies, trying again. This time he hits an even worse knot, and tugs hard enough to make her wince.

 _Sorry, I’m sorry - you should - maybe you should do it -_ he says hurriedly, handing the comb back to her.

 _No, it’s alright, I… I like it when people comb my hair. Mairead would do it, normally, but…_ She swallows hard, twisting her new ring on her finger. _Here, I’ll show you._ She takes a clump of hair, holds it in one fist and takes the comb through the ends of the hair in short, gentle strokes.

 _Start at the bottom, and work out the knots there, then move your way up to the top a bit at a time. And if you can’t pull the comb through, don’t tug down so hard, it just pulls the knots tighter._ She hands the comb back to him. _Try again._

He takes the comb and gingerly gathers up her hair again, this time trying the small, incremental strokes she showed him.

 _It must take a long time to deal with your hair every night,_ he comments.

 _Well, my ladies are a bit more practiced than you are,_ she says with a smile, _but it does take a little while. Everyone has hair this long in Caledonia, though. At least the women do. And it’s nice, taking care of each other’s hair. We talk, and relax._

He draws the comb through her hair one last time, now tangle-free, and sets it aside, starting to braid her hair. He goes slowly - he knows how to braid hair, but doesn’t exactly get much experience doing it on himself or others - but he’s pretty sure that Saoirse doesn’t mind, and the repetitive motion of winding the clumps of her hair around each other is calming.

Finally all of her long hair is bound up, and he takes the leather cord she offers him and ties it off. He gently lays the braid over her shoulder, and feels her flinch slightly where his hand accidentally brushes against her, her skin rippling to gooseflesh.

She takes a deep breath, then turns to face him. Her face is as stone, smooth and coldly removed in a way she hasn’t been to him for a while now. _Well,_ she says. _I suppose we should - get it over with._

He looks at her, uncomprehending.

 _Did -_ Her face flushes red. _Didn’t they tell you… what’s expected? The duty of the marriage bed?_

Now his face goes red too. _Oh. I, uh, I didn’t really think - I mean, if you want to, we can - but it kind of seems like you don’t want to -_ He breaks off, stopping himself from rambling any further.

Her expression shifts to something more warm. _I don’t know. It’s been… it’s been a long day._

He reaches out to take her hand, and she lets him. _Look. I promised, didn’t I? That I’d give you space, and treat you as a partner. We’ve… we’ve got time for all this. And I don’t think we should do anything either of us might not want to do right now. Who cares what anyone else thinks? It’s our marriage and our business._

She looks utterly relieved, almost to the point of tears, and she pulls him closer into a tight hug. _Thank you. I - thank you._

(They fall asleep almost as soon as they are settled under the blankets; the last thing Hiccup remembers of the night is Saoirse’s even breathing, one hand loosely clutching one of his.)

\--

The wedding feasting lasts for another six nights. It mostly blurs together in Hiccup’s mind, honestly, all the dancing and singing and competitions. After the assurance of their first night together, Saoirse seems to let go of whatever hesitation she had left about the marriage; she is warm and open, full of gentle intimacy.

A week after the wedding, the Caledonians prepare to leave; with the alliance settled and their princess married, their business in Berk is finished, and they are all keen to return home. In public Saoirse tries not to show it, but in private Hiccup knows she is dreading the departure of this last link to her homeland - after this, she will be alone in her new life, with only letters home and traders arriving occasionally from Caledonia.

It’s a steady drizzle on the day of departure, with everyone huddled underneath thick cloaks. Saoirse clutches her siblings to her as long as she can; so unwilling is she to let them go Hiccup wonders if she means to make them miss the tide, and stay another day. Her sister is near inconsolable, but with a quiet word and a kiss to the forehead from Saoirse she brushes away her tears and tries to put on a brave face.

Mairead is the last of Saoirse’s kin and close circle to board. She holds Saoirse to her chest tightly, and speaks words meant for them alone; then she boards, and a few minutes later the ships are off.

Saoirse stands at the dock for a long while, even after the ships have disappeared into the mist; Hiccup stands with her in silence until the rain starts to come down harder, and then takes her hand and pulls her away.

 _You’ll see them again someday,_ he promises her. _I’m sure we can find time for you to visit your home._

She is quiet after that, and he briefly wonders if he’s said the wrong thing; then she turns to him and gives him a small smile, and says, _You’re only partly right. I will visit Caledonia sometime, but this is my home now._


End file.
